Chapter 50 50: The Unlucky Nick Fury
With strong logistical support, Matthew was able to save a great deal of time and effort in his training.
All he needed to focus on was training—but the logistics team had far more to consider.
Beyond overcoming extreme environmental conditions to airdrop supplies for him, they also had to suppress the energy fluctuations he released during training.
In terms of advanced technology, this world far surpassed his previous one.
Not to mention the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj, whose magical barriers could detect such disturbances—many other organizations had also developed equipment specifically designed to monitor abnormal energy surges.
Once something unusual appeared, it could easily be detected and tracked.
The two large airdropped containers—one stored daily supplies, while the other functioned as a simple kitchen and shelter.
It allowed him to cook and rest here.
After all, finding a place to sleep in such an environment wasn't easy. He had come here to train—not to suffer unnecessarily.
Before long, the kitchen setup was running. Gas fueled the grill as a whole lamb and fresh vegetables roasted over a strong flame.
Even with nutrient supplements available, he still maintained the habit of eating.
Good food brought genuine satisfaction.
While Matthew trained hard, he also allowed himself moments of enjoyment.
...
Meanwhile, in a safe house in Saint Petersburg, Clint Barton was growing increasingly restless.
Inside the brightly lit living room, Clint, dressed in a dark turtleneck sweater, stood by the window, watching the heavy snow outside and the passing vehicles on the street.
Holding his phone, he reported to his superior, Nick Fury.
"Sir, the target has completely disappeared. We've used all available resources here, but we haven't found a single clue."
There was a brief silence on the other end before Fury's signature low voice came through. "Disappeared without a trace?"
"Yes. The last known location was a café. After that, there's no sign of her in any surveillance footage."
"Did she sense the danger?"
"Not certain—but it's possible." Clint agreed with the director's assessment.
Otherwise, it would be too unbelievable.
As for another force intervening—taking someone away right under their watch and erasing all traces—Clint found that even harder to believe.
He was more inclined to think that the Black Widow had sensed danger and swiftly escaped Saint Petersburg.
Even though their department had minimal resources deployed in this country, it still far surpassed most ordinary forces.
Evading their surveillance and extracting a target unnoticed would be extremely difficult.
As a Level 7 elite agent, Clint understood just how extensive their reach and influence was.
A top-tier spy trained by the Red Room detecting danger and escaping—that was far more plausible.
After all, spies of that caliber stood at the very peak when it came to sensing danger and evading pursuit.
If it came down to concealment skills, Clint knew he was no match for a top-tier spy.
"We have to find her. Only by using her to uncover who's truly controlling the Red Room can we destroy it."
No matter the possibility, Fury made his decision and issued the order decisively.
"I'll mobilize all available resources there. The moment we get any trace of her, find her."
Fury had long been aware of the Red Room's existence.
After all, it was an espionage organization dating back to the Soviet era. S.H.I.E.L.D. had crossed paths with it many times, but aside from wartime, direct conflict between the two had been rare.
What his organization sought above all was stability.
Since the 1990s, however, many of the agency's operations had been disrupted. After a series of investigations, the blame had gradually been traced back to the Red Room.
The Red Room might not even be aware of an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., but over the years, many of its espionage missions had inevitably overlapped with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s objectives.
Coupled with the fact that Fury had noticed the Red Room's reach and activities expanding more and more, he decided it had to be eliminated.
Fury himself hadn't initially placed much importance on this operation.
The Red Room wasn't weak—but compared to S.H.I.E.L.D., it was far inferior.
As for someone like the Black Widow, Fury didn't particularly care. S.H.I.E.L.D. had never lacked top-tier talent.
He had sent Clint—Hawkeye—mainly because the operation was in Russia, where S.H.I.E.L.D.'s presence was limited. Deploying a top agent ensured a higher success rate.
But unexpectedly, a major problem had arisen before the operation even began.
The Black Widow had disappeared. They couldn't even find her, let alone uncover the one pulling the strings behind the Red Room.
Fury wasn't furious—but he had a growing sense that something had been off lately.
Very off.
He had a persistent feeling that things hadn't been going smoothly for him.
Trusting his instincts as a veteran operative, Fury made a quiet decision—he would conduct an internal review.
Starting with this operation.
...
Clint, unaware of Fury's thoughts, had already received clear instructions. After ending the call, he didn't rush into action.
After all, tracking someone down wasn't something he could contribute much to directly.
Returning to the living room, he picked up a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the table and took a sip, then sat on the sofa, looking at the data on his laptop.
Displayed on the screen was the profile of his current target—Natasha.
The information was extremely detailed. It even included several of her past missions, showing that she had been under surveillance for quite some time.
Seeing this, his hand paused, and he frowned.
"Did you really sense the danger yourself?"
"I've reviewed the operation logic. There were no flaws in the execution process. So how could you have detected danger?"
"Why didn't you notice it during previous missions? Why only this time? Coincidence?"
Clint seemed to realize something. He quickly stood up, put on his down jacket, pulled on a wool hat, and hurried out the door.
A little over ten minutes later, he arrived at the café where Natasha had last been seen.
After entering, he sat in the same spot where she had been. Through the window, he looked at the building across the street.
"She was carrying out a mission. Her target was someone in that building."
"She was observing the security rotation gaps. It wasn't an assassination—more likely infiltration to retrieve something, possibly with an assassination as a secondary objective."
"Everything was normal up to that point. But then you disappeared—within less than ten minutes."
"Why?"
"Our people had long-range surveillance in place. We also accessed nearby cameras. No one was seen. So where did this sense of danger come from?"
The more Clint thought about it, the sharper his gaze became. He had found the key point.
That's right—intuition often defied logic. Especially for those who had experienced battle or life-and-death situations, their instincts could be incredibly sharp.
But even so, there was always an underlying trigger.
Usually, it came from something overlooked—a detail dismissed as harmless by conscious thought, but flagged as dangerous by the subconscious.
It was a warning.
A signal.
But in Natasha's case, nothing in the entire process should have triggered such a response.
Which meant the real cause was the involvement of a third party.
"Damn it!"
Having reached this conclusion, Clint immediately stood up and left.
He needed to report this and reassess the direction of the investigation.
...
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